Catch-22
by artemisgirl
Summary: "Then I'll just kill the babies," Voldemort snarled. "The Dark Lord, the baby killer. Coming for all your children, murdering your babies in their cribs. That will strike fear into the hearts of everyone, won't it?" - Not long after Snape delivers the prophecy to the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters have begun to gossip. Voldemort reflects on the dire implications of it all.


A/N: Written for the Kenmare Kestrels as Chaser 3, for Season 7 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction competition. My prompt was: _The Holy Grail_ \- King Arthur is challenged to a duel by the Black Knight, who promptly loses all of his limbs. The Black Knight then decides to call it a draw. **Write about a canonly stubborn character faced with insurmountable odds.**

I can earn bonus points for including: Catch-22 (situation), expectations (word), and coincidence (word). (Prompts 8, 9, and 15.)

In the spirit of Monty Python, this is a **humor **story, and **slightly-to-somewhat AU** in nature. It is meant to be amusing, not a serious exploration of Voldemort as a character.

* * *

**Catch-22**

Voldemort sat at the head of the table, as his Death Eaters dined before him. There was much conversation – just last week they had defeated the Fabian brothers in a spectacular bit of dueling, and the story was still being told. Others to the side were discussing the latest policy changes in the ministry, and there, just down at the end, Voldemort could just make out…

"Trelawney gave it to Dumbledore… she's the new professor of Divination, they say…"

Voldemort scowled down at his plate.

The prophecy.

Of course.

It had been a coincidence that Severus Snape had heard the prophecy at all. A very lucky coincidence, but a coincidence all the same. It was as if fate itself, the Death Eaters murmured, had wanted the prophecy to reach the ears of their Lord.

And Voldemort was _glad_ that Severus Snape had overheard the prophecy, of course. How could he not? Advance knowledge of the future, of what might come to pass – it could only be a boon. It could only help him better defeat his foes.

Or so he had thought.

Until word of the prophecy had leaked out.

Then it had become all that the Death Eaters would talk about.

"It goes 'the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...'" Rookwood said, affecting a low, spooky voice, "born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."

"I thought it was 'born to those who have defied him thrice'?" Nott said. He sneered. "The meter works better."

"Oh, who _cares?_ The important thing is 'born as the seventh month dies'…"

Voldemort sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose very tightly.

"Malfoy," Voldemort said very suddenly, standing. "Attend to me."

Lucius Malfoy stood with him, following as Lord Voldemort swept very grandly from the room. He was sure his robes were sweeping grandly; he had bewitched them to billow ominously and grandly behind him where ever he walked.

Once they were in the other room, out of earshot of the others, Lucius turned and looked at him, clearly worried.

"My Lord…?"

"Lucius," Voldemort said. He felt very old. "You know I have long considered you my right hand. I come to you with a dilemma."

Lucius straightened and preened a bit in pride; he was only a few years out of Hogwarts, and being the Dark Lord's right hand was quite an accomplishment. Voldemort let him preen.

"Lucius, I am faced with insurmountable odds," he told him. "What would you do in the face of this dilemma?"

Lucius looked confused.

"Insurmountable odds?" he questioned. "My Lord, you grow stronger and stronger every day, and the resistance grows weaker and weaker. Surely, the odds are in our favor—"

"Not of the war," Voldemort snapped. "I'm clearly winning that."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said hurriedly. "But then… what, my Lord?"

"I face insurmountable odds," Lord Voldemort said deliberately, "of saving face before my Death Eaters."

Lucius hesitated.

"…my Lord?"

"It's this blasted _prophecy_," Voldemort snarled. "How am I to appear all-powerful to my followers in the face of this farce?"

"My Lord, we all follow you faithfully. We have the utmost belief in your strength-"

"If I am all-powerful, Lucius, I do not need to be _murdering_ _babies_," Voldemort said sharply, cutting him off. "If I am all powerful, then I do not need to murder any alleged vanquisher, because no one can possibly vanquish me."

"A wise choice," Lucius said carefully. "Murdering babies is generally not good for morale."

"But if I do _not_ murder a baby, then I am not all powerful, for then my possible vanquisher lives," Voldemort spat. "For how can I be all powerful, while someone who may someday vanquish me still lives?"

Lucius looked confused.

"It is a paradox," Voldemort scowled. "There is no way out."

"It's a Catch-22."

Lucius leapt into the air at the sudden voice and had his wand out in a heartbeat, his silver eyes flashing at the intruder.

"Snape?" Lucius questioned. He sneered. "What are you doing there, hiding in the shadows? Eavesdropping on the private confidence of our Lord?"

"I was _standing_," Snape said. He offered a sneer back. "I fled the mundane conversation of the nitwits in the dining room. It was _you_ who came back here to talk."

"Lucius, stand down," Voldemort drawled. "I trust Severus and his counsel, should he offer it. Do you think I would have spoken so freely if I did not?"

Lucius looked ashamed. Voldemort dared not admit he hadn't seen Snape hiding in the shadows of the room. Then they'd _really_ think he was slipping. How could Voldemort be all powerful, if he didn't even have good eyesight?

Snape inclined his head, accepting the praise.

"Now, Severus," Voldemort said. "What is this catching?"

"It's Catch-22," Snape said. "It's a paradoxical situation, where one cannot escape because of contradictory rules. It's called Catch-22."

"Why is it called Catch-22?" Lucius asked.

Snape hesitated. "…I don't know. It just is."

"That means it's a Muggle thing," Lucius said, disgusted. "My Lord, I beg you, ignore this upstart, and I shall attend your needs and offer my counsel."

"Lucius, regardless of where the word comes from, it is _accurate_," Voldemort said, tired. "I am trapped in a paradox."

"Forgive me, but I fail to see why, my Lord," Lucius said. "My Lord, you are all powerful. Surely no one doubts—"

"But they _do_ doubt," Voldemort snarled, and Lucius stumbled backwards at the red light flashing in his eyes. "The Death Eaters have certain _expectations_. And one of them is that their Lord is all powerful."

"And if a vanquisher exists, he cannot be all powerful," Snape said. "But if he kills his alleged vanquisher, that means the vanquisher _could_ have vanquished him, which means the lord was not all powerful to begin with."

Voldemort aimed a sharp look at Snape, who did his best not to cower. "…precisely."

Lucius bit his lip.

"Perhaps you can discuss the prophecy openly with the Death Eaters, my Lord," he said. "Once they hear you address it openly, it can be dismissed, and we can move on with your plans."

"I _cannot_ afford to dignify it openly! That gives the claim _legitimacy_," Voldemort hissed. "Lucius, do you understand what is happening? The whisperings of a mad woman have jeopardized everything! If I do not have the utter trust and faith of my Death Eaters, they will begin to doubt me and turn from me, and all will be lost." His eyes burned red. "I am faced with _insurmountable_ odds."

Lucius coughed. "You already said that, my Lord—"

"Yes, I'm _aware_, Lucius!" Voldemort snapped. "I was repeating it for dramatic emphasis. To _emphasize_ the gravity of the situation with the prophecy."

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius said hurriedly. "My apologies. Yes. Of course. The situation with the prophecy. Yes. Very bad."

Voldemort couldn't restrain the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes at Death Eater meetings, he wondered if he rolled his eyes hard enough, if they would roll right out of his skull.

From across the room, Snape hesitated.

"My Lord, if I had known word of the prophecy should cause such distress…"

"Oh, shut up, Severus," Voldemort spat. "It's too late for that now."

The three men stood in the room for a long moment. Lucius and Severus kept exchanging frightened, darting glances that Voldemort supposed they thought were subtle. At least they looked frightened. The Death Eaters couldn't be losing faith in him _that_ quickly, if they were still terrified of his wrath.

Voldemort drew himself back up, taking a deep breath and settling himself. He reopened his eyes, and they were sharp.

"This is what we will do," he announced. "I will announce a new campaign of terror against those who have defied me. I will murder the children of those who would fight against me. This will demoralize them and cripple the Light army more than directly killing their fighters – they will begin to lose hope, and their hopelessness will infect the entire Resistance."

His two Death Eaters looked hesitant.

"Are you sure that is a wise idea, my lord?" Lucius ventured. "Eliminating an entire family, my lord… you would wipe out a bloodline."

"I'm a _Dark Lord_, Lucius," Voldemort said, sneering. "There are certain expectations of evil upon me I must live up to."

Lucius still looked uneasy. "Some of your opponents are notable purebloods."

Voldemort's red eyes burned into Lucius' silver, Lucius trying not to cower under his glare.

"Fine," Voldemort snapped, breaking the gaze, and Lucius nearly collapsed in relief. "Not the families of the purebloods, initially. Just those of mixed blood."

"The Longbottom boy is a pureblood," Snape pointed out. "Your potential vanquisher."

Voldemort swore.

"Then I'll _just_ kill the babies," he snarled. "The Dark Lord, the baby killer. Coming for all your children, murdering your babies in their cribs. That will strike fear into the hearts of everyone, won't it?"

Snape and Lucius both cowered backwards. Voldemort scowled.

"Families of the mixed bloods, just the children of the purebloods," he snapped. "Then they can spawn more. That should satisfy you, won't it, Lucius? And then I can eliminate my supposed vanquishers under the guise of an entirely plausible and strategically sound war decision."

"Very wise, my Lord," Lucius said, bowing his head.

Voldemort looked at Snape expectantly. He was looking away, carefully disinterested.

"Severus?" Voldemort said sharply.

Snape flinched.

"…my Lord, the prophecy has already been heard and discussed endlessly," he said finally. "Your Death Eaters will see through this guise."

"Then _make them not_," Voldemort snapped. "This is _your_ _fault _anyway, Severus. _You_ were the one who repeated the prophecy within hearing of another."

"My Lord, had I but known—"

"Your endless apologies do not help me," Voldemort hissed. "_Fix it_, Severus. Make it plausible. You only heard part of the prophecy, yes? Then find the other part and spread it. Maybe it says that once I vanquish my alleged vanquisher, I shall reach my ultimate potential."

"But what if it doesn't, my Lord?" Lucius said.

Voldemort turned to him incredulously.

"_I don't give a damn what it actually says!"_ he cried. "I _care_ that my Death Eaters _believe _it. _Make them_ believe, Severus. Lucius, you too. Let slip that your Lord has confided in you the truth of the prophecy and is preparing to attain his highest potential."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said hurriedly. "Of course, my Lord."

"Good," Voldemort said disgustedly. "While you two do that, I will be out murdering babies. The ones born over the summer first. The Potters, then the Longbottoms, and then whomever else appropriate you add to my list."

Snape had gone pale.

"The Potters, my Lord?"

"Yes," Voldemort snapped. "They have defied me three times, the same as the Longbottoms. And they, too, have a child born in July."

"But it is truly only the child that need perish?" Snape persisted. "Not everyone?"

"I _just said_, Severus, that I need to—"

"Spare Lily," Snape burst out. "Please, my Lord. Spare the woman." He fell to his knees, pleading at the edge of his robes, and Voldemort barely resisted the urge to kick him in disgust. "Spare Lily. Don't kill her. _Please_ don't kill her. Kill the father, kill the son, but leave her as a broken soldier to spread word of your power. Please, my Lord. I beg of you – do not harm her."

Voldemort restrained the urge to roll his eyes.

"Fine," he snapped. "Consider it your boon for bringing me the prophecy. If she doesn't get in my way, I will spare your precious Mudblood."

Snape looked weak – though with relief or fear, Voldemort couldn't tell.

"We are now going back in there," Voldemort said, very deliberately, "where I will announce my new reign of terror. I will depart, and you two will begin spreading rumors of the rest of the prophecy and my ascension to my pinnacle of power."

"You may need to do something to support that," Lucius ventured. "Can you do something after defeating your potential vanquishers to show you are even stronger?"

"You mean after I finish _murdering babies?_" Voldemort scowled, but he allowed his mind to drift. He _did_ still need one last Horcrux, to complete his seven-part soul. "…yes, Lucius. I believe that can be arranged."

Both of his young Death Eaters looked simultaneously excited and also rigid with their terror. Voldemort pinched his nose again, reminding himself that he needed to stop recruiting quite so young.

Murdering babies. Was that really what he was reduced to?

But he had lost face from fleeing from Dumbledore, and he had lost face from the repeated defiance of his foes. And now, he was losing face from this prophecy, and he would lose even _more_ by listening to it, but it wasn't as if he had a choice. Each defeat lost him esteem in the face of his followers, making him feel as if he were losing image of Lord Voldemort himself, torn apart limb by limb.

"If _this_ doesn't work," he muttered to himself, as he swept back into the dining room, "there won't be anything left of me for anyone to take, unless the babe takes my nose."


End file.
